“She likes you very much,” he said.
“I’m glad,” said Lexy; “but how did you manage to keep the roses so wonderfully fresh, Captain Grey?”
“The doctor wrapped them for me—some rather special way, you know—damp paper, and then a cloth. He told me not to open them until I gave them to you. Very clever chap, isn’t he?”
“He is!” agreed Lexy, with a faint smile.
“Mind if I smoke, Miss Moran?” asked the young man. “Thanks!”
He lit a cigarette and sat down on the window sill. He was silent, and so was Lexy, for she fancied that he had something he wished to say.
“Miss Moran,” he said, at last, “you’ll go there again to see her, won’t you?”
Lexy considered for a moment.
“Why?” she asked. “Why did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I was afraid you might think—it’s the atmosphere of the place—I’m sure of it—that made you nervous the other afternoon. It’s something about the place, you know. I’ve felt it myself. I was afraid you wouldn’t care to go again, and I don’t like to think of her there—alone.”